These days, nobody appreciates being Rob Lowe more than the chisel-cheeked actor himself. After years of shooing away sex scandals, addiction troubles, ties to Judd Nelson, and that cheese-ball performance at the Academy Awards in 1989, in which he sang ''Proud Mary'' to Snow White in front of billions of people, the 37-year-old ex-Brat Packer is experiencing something he's never really known: grown-up respect.

''I feel like I'm exactly where I want to be,'' Lowe says, during an interview in his Toluca Lake, California, house, the one he uses as a base on the days West Wing shoots. ''My life's almost scary good.'' What's even scarier is hearing his friends rave about him.

''An evening with Rob,'' says Myers, ''is like a combination of the Biography Channel, the History Channel, E! News Daily, and Comedy Central. He's a great observer of human behavior and a great storyteller. I'm starstruck around him.''

Myers isn't alone in his unworthiness. With 17 million West Wing fans, doting critics, a best actor nod from the Emmy folks, and notes of confidence from the real White House, it's almost as if Lowe's bimboy days never happened.

''I certainly don't look back with any bitterness,'' Lowe says, ''though obviously there are a couple of judgment calls and some '80s hairdos I'd like to do over.''

Sam Seaborn, Lowe's West Wing alter ego, wouldn't be caught dead in a St. Elmo's Fire-era mullet. He wouldn't have time for all that follicle maintenance. As deputy communications director under President Josiah Bartlet (played by Lowe's childhood neighbor, Martin Sheen), Seaborn is the quintessential Beltway policy wonk, the sort of overcaffeinated, undersexed, Uber-intelligent lefty crusader who rattles off names of congressmen in alphabetical order just for kicks.

As Myers puts it, ''Sam's your fantasy of a dedicated public servant.''

But politics have always been part of Lowe's reality. As a kid, he sold cookies and lemonade to raise money for Democratic presidential nominee George McGovern, and even now he's hip to the differences between the NSC, the WTO, and the CSE (last season's fictional Cartographers for Social Equality).

''I couldn't have paid a hundred writers to come up with a character that feels as close to the bone as Sam Seaborn does,'' says Lowe.

Adds costar John Spencer (Chief of Staff Leo McGarry), ''Rob has pulled off that rare hat trick of being the perfect actor for the perfect role at the perfect time.''

Of course, Hollywood politics can be every bit as messy as the muck that oozes out of Washington. In June, Sorkin, who writes every West Wing script, pleaded guilty to drug possession charges and agreed to complete a drug diversion program following his April arrest for carrying rock cocaine, marijuana, and hallucinogenic mushrooms while boarding a plane in Burbank. Also this spring, some members of Sorkin's writing staff bolted when they were told they wouldn't be getting raises. Then four cast members -- Spencer, Allison Janney, Richard Schiff, and Bradley Whitford -- threatened to walk out over salary demands (eventually their pay was more than doubled). All of which can make coming to work about as entertaining as a Strom Thurmond filibuster.

''I'm not going to lie to you,'' Lowe says. ''This is not a fun show to do. Aaron is a very intense man. [Executive producer] John Wells is very smart but very intense. The hours are extremely long and it's not a laugh-till-you-fall-down kind of set. But that doesn't matter. What it comes down to is what you see on Wednesday nights at nine.''

Still, the behind-the-scenes turmoil has definitely taken a toll. There were even rumors circulating that Lowe -- because of his reported near-$100,000-per-episode salary -- was getting the cold shoulder from cast members; none attended a double celebration for his wife Sheryl's 40th birthday and the couple's 10th anniversary (Lowe's publicist maintains the West Wing crowd wasn't invited to the family function). Lowe says he never felt any personal animosity (''It's all just business stuff'') and insists he likes ''seeing people get paid what they deserve,'' but as Spencer says, ''all the backstage adventures have been a challenge for everybody this year.'' But Janney denies any hard feelings: ''The rumors are just part of the hype to sell papers.''

Either way, Lowe's no stranger to off-camera dramas. The notorious amateur sex video filmed during the 1988 Democratic National Convention in Atlanta, featuring the actor and two starry-eyed constituents -- one a 16-year-old hair-salon assistant -- still hounds him. (Lowe was sued by the teen's mother, and the case was settled out of court. He reportedly agreed to perform 20 hours of community service and no criminal charges were filed.) Combined with a serious thirst for drink and a fondness for dating media magnets like Princess Stephanie of Monaco and Fawn Hall of Iran-contra fame, Lowe was the Kato Kaelin of the late '80s -- an adorable, fun-loving all-purpose media punching bag. ''The only thing I can say about my 20s was that I was just in my 20s,'' Lowe says. ''At least now I can say I've become an adult, which is more than some people can say.''

Lowe has been sober for 11 years, and a wild weekend these days usually means holing up at home in Montecito two hours from the set.

''I couldn't understand why Rob spends all that time driving back and forth,'' says Janney. ''Then I saw the house in Architectural Digest and said, 'Oh, I get it.' ''

The six-acre spread is a mini-paradise with gardens and a burbling stream. Glamorous as it sounds, Lowe's spare time is mainly spent catching up with his wife, a cosmetics entrepreneur, and thinking up ways to occupy his sons, Matthew, 8, and John Owen, 5.

''I worked out an elaborate system where there's a bounty on various insects around the yard so I can get five minutes to myself,'' Lowe says. ''I've got the kids convinced that if they catch a live hummingbird, I'll give them $200.''

During production, he tries to make phone time for friends like Myers and Dennis Miller, but Lowe certainly hasn't been hanging with the Brat Pack crew. ''I ran into Demi Moore at Starbucks a while ago,'' he says of his St. Elmo's costar. ''It was weird. I didn't even recognize her.''

When Lowe does get out, he gets out big time. He's been a guest at the White House under both the Clinton and George W. Bush administrations and loves to talk about the differences. ''With Clinton, my kids basically got to carry the suitcase with the codes for the nuclear weapons and sit in the President's chair. With Bush, the staff didn't even lift the velvet rope on the Oval Office.''

Lowe's watching Bush carefully. ''I was very pleased to see him put through a patient's bill of rights even though it wasn't the toothiest version, but I would have been really angry if he didn't grant government funding in some capacity for stem cell research.'' And the GOP's eyeing Lowe too. In addition to that mash note W. sent him (''Just a courtesy thing,'' Lowe insists), The West Wing -- despite being dubbed The Left Wing among Lowe's ''friends in the Republican Party'' -- is still immensely popular with the staffers at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. ''It's not like we sit around saying 'We've got to respond to Bush on this or that issue,' '' says Lowe. ''At this point, the characters are established enough to have lives of their own. President Bartlet is a force to reckon with.''

Actually, Lowe's been reckoning with Bartlet, or at least Sheen, for as long as he can remember. Growing up in Malibu in a house across from the Sheens', Lowe lived in fear of Charlie and Emilio's dad. ''He denies it,'' Lowe says, ''but I can assure you that on Halloween, the last person you wanted to run into if you were egging or shaving-creaming was Martin Sheen. I can recall him patrolling the neighborhood in full fatigues with a baseball bat. I think he might have been working out some post-Apocalypse Now psychodrama.'' (Not only would Sheen neither confirm nor deny the allegation, he chose not to comment for this piece at all.)

This season, Lowe's Seaborn has his own psychodramas. He'll have a potential love interest in new campaign strategist Connie (Spin City's Connie Britton). And in one scene involving a Latino lobbyist, Seaborn shows off his conversational Spanish, something Lowe had to learn -- pronto. ''As you might guess, Sam doesn't just speak regular Spanish,'' Lowe says. ''It's speed-bag, 100-mile-an-hour, rat-tat-tat-tat-tat.''

Adds Sorkin, ''I tend to torture Rob a little.'' Not that Sorkin needs to nag. ''Rob's tougher on himself than any other actor I've seen,'' says Anna Deavere Smith, the stage actress and recurring West Winger. Lowe's taken just 18 vacation days in three years and fills his hiatuses with film work. Next up: 2002's A View From the Top, in which he plays a pilot who joins the mile-high club with flight attendant Gwyneth Paltrow.

As if Lowe needed any more highs, Tom Cruise, who costarred with Lowe in his first movie, Francis Ford Coppola's The Outsiders, called his pal for a tour of the West Wing set and afterwards invited Lowe to watch him shooting Steven Spielberg's upcoming Minority Report.

''Tom made me climb up five levels of scaffolding,'' Lowe says, ''and when we got to the top, high over everything, he hitched himself onto a bungee cord and dove off into the set. I was absolutely terrified! Tom just threw his head back and laughed and yelled up, 'Admit it, there was a part of you that was hoping I was gonna get hurt!' Then Spielberg calls up to me on his megaphone: 'Love your work on West Wing.' And I'm just thinking, Man! My life is surreal!''

Even for Rob Lowe, being Rob Lowe can be a bit awe-inspiring.